


Somewhere In Space

by UumRonin



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Blood, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Love, Pain, SHIELD, Teamwork, Whump, Wounds, beaten, bruised, mission, villian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UumRonin/pseuds/UumRonin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Clint Barton moves into Stark Tower to join his teammates, he is jumped by a bunch of brutes in the streets. Although not realizing it, Hawkeye has become a test subject at the hands of a new group of villains, making it harder and harder to keep control. Hopefully his team can help him figure this all out before something (or someone) gets the better of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

            You can always tell when someone else has a hold of their lives, when they catch the boomerang that spun so rapidly out of control over the years and turn it around, sending it back to the same hand that threw it in the first place. It was a time like that for Clint Barton.

            The streets were littered with newspaper from days before, clumps of paper and ink seeping into the storm drains. Trains were passing in the distance. You were almost close enough to hear the mechanisms inside the engine twist and turn as they eventually grinded to a halt several miles away. Clint could tell how much it had rained earlier by how much water filled an empty flower pot dangling from the doorway of a coffee shop on his way home. He had guessed about three inches.

            His sneakers skidded against the pavement as he watched bits of rock and shattered concrete skip ahead of them after colliding with his foot. He should be in more of a hurry, he thought, what with having so much to do and prepare for: his clothes needed to be washed, the apartment needed to be cleaned, he had paperwork to sign, and any other mundane tasks that come along with moving.

            He wrapped his fingers around the crumpled envelope in his pocket and as he felt the ink filled with good news flow through his body and up into his face, he lit up a smile.

            _Finally._ He thought. _My ticket home._

            Rounding a corner, he checked the time on his cell phone. 2:16. Perfect. He picked up his pace a little after realizing he still had a bit of a walk to go. Instead of investing in a mode of transportation, he purchased a cell phone. Sure, it was handy when someone needed to get in contact with him although it wasn’t very often. The thought that someone might want to contact him though was all the motivation he needed to keep paying the bill.

            Keeping up his mighty strides, hands still wrist-deep in their pockets, his walking came to an abrupt stop. A block ahead of him stood a burly group he’d never seen before. That was always a bad sign that even a rookie assassin to recognize. He turned to go left instead of straight, choosing to take the long way home. Today was a good day. He didn’t need whatever those people had.

            As his foot crossed over the other in efforts to change his direction, a hand whipped from behind him. He heard the whirring of the wind around it just in time to twist and block its force. The group started moving towards him.

            _Of course._ He let out a short sigh as his first attacker moved positions, dancing around on his feet like a five year old. Clint could tell this guy had no idea how to hurt someone. Luckily, Clint knew a thing or two.

            His arm swung and collided with the side of his assailant’s head, throwing him off balance. As he positioned for another punch, four more hands grabbed his arm. Another lunged at his legs. Clint twisted and flopped but struggled down to the ground with a handful of sweaty thugs on top of him. This isn’t the worst thing that’s happened, he thought. None of them were particularly hurting him.

            He felt a giant hand push down on his neck, pinning it to the wet sidewalk.

            “Tell that kid to go away!” He opened his eyes and saw one of the men swat his arm at a nearby child.

            “Hey, get lost!”

            “Man what are you doing? Get the case!”

            “I thought you had the case!”

            “God dammit Wesley you’re the biggest piece of shit!”

            At the realization that Clint was losing to a bunch of idiots, he started feeling a lot angrier. With his free arm that had been squished beneath him, he started pushing himself off the ground. One inch, then two inches…until a sharp pain in his neck right below where the man’s hand was brought on a blanket of blackness.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)

Chapter 2

 

            _“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…”_

            The periodic vibrations of the phone vibrating in his pocket kept humming as Rick Astley continued to sing the chorus over and over again.

            Slowly, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. Without answering it, he started opening his eyes. The phone stopped ringing just as the song was about to start again for the fourth time.

            Clint shook his head a little, feeling jumbled. In front of him was a brick wall and beside him was a dumpster. He did a quick scan of himself, checking for injuries. A headache, dizziness, nausea…almost like a hangover without all the fun the night before. He put his weight against the dumpster, using it to help him stand. Once on his feet, he felt his entire weight shift from one shoe to the next, then back to the other. Before he could lean up against the dumpster for more support, he fell the opposite way onto the ground.

            He released an, “ugh!” as he fell back to the ground. There was no time to waste though. He had to figure out where he was and, more importantly, how to get home. With another attempt, Clint leaned against the wall this time. The slime oozing out of the bricks wiped against his hands as the jagged edges of the bricks themselves left red marks on his palms.

            For whatever reason, the men that attacked him didn’t cause him much harm. What other reason could they have? He pondered this as he used the building beside him as his crutch, steadily making his way out of the alleyway and into the light of day.

            The sudden contact of the sun burned his eyes. His arm shot up to shield its brightness and saw that there was a good amount of blood on his forearm. It was still wet, meaning he either wasn’t unconscious for very long or it happened just before he woke up. Either way, he needed to get home.

_“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…”_

This time he looked to see who was calling. The screen lit up, flickering “Natasha” with a green and red button beneath it. He swiped to the left.

“Yeah?”

“Where the hell are you?”

Clint looked around and saw a restaurant across the street, some kids playing on the stoop of an apartment complex, and an employee taking out the garbage.

“I think I’m near 32nd street?” His injured arm went up to scratch the back of his head in a guessing motion.

“32nd street? Why are you all the way over there?”

“That’s a good question.” He picked a direction that he thought was home and started walking in it. Today, that direction was left.

“Well hurry up and get here, I haven’t got all day.”

He remembered what today was and why he was even outside in the first place. Today he moved into Stark Tower with the rest of his team and Natasha offered to lend a helping hand getting all of his stuff together.

“What time is it?”

“5:30.”

“Shit!” He looked before crossing the street and picked up a light jog, lowering the distance between him and his friend.

“I’ll see you soon. At least you left your apartment unlocked for me.” Natasha hung up. Locking his door was always a struggle for him to remember. Few people knew where he lived anyway and soon, he would be living with all of them.

The phone slid back into his pocket as he passed Decauter Street. The only reason he remembers this street is because one year for Christmas, a little girl walked up to him and gave him the paperclip angel she had made with her class. He thought about her as he saw the street sign, wondering if he still had her gift tucked away somewhere.

After fifteen more minutes of hustling, he made it through his front door. Natasha was lounging on the couch, flipping through some books she found stacked on the table.

“I didn’t know you ran track in high school,” she held up the book and pointed to a little blonde boy in the back row of a group of high schoolers.

“We don’t talk about high school.” He closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen. Natasha got up to join him and noticed the bright red strands dripping from his arm.

“You’re aware of your bodily fluids seeping onto your floor?” She reached for some towels. He didn’t say anything in response. It wasn’t any of her business. He took the towels and wiped off the blood, revealing a small gash, but big enough to cause some bleeding.

“We should get moving. Stark expects us at eight for dinner.”

“Seems like kind of a late dinner.”

Clint took what little kitchenware he owned out of the cupboards and placed them in a box, following with a clock on the wall, a picture of his parents, and some miscellaneous trinkets. He never was one for sentimental value, so what little memorabilia he did own definitely had to mean something.

Natasha grabbed an armful of clothes and dumped them into a trash bag. The two worked quietly, accompanied by the noise from the streets that drifted in from the open windows.

 

The drive to the Tower was a silent one. Clint obviously didn’t want to talk about his day and whatever joy he had at the start of it had dissipated. Natasha stared out the window, uninterested in the bleak sights of the city they lived in.

“There he is! Come on in big boy!” Tony slapped Clint on the back and shoved him through the front door, not paying any notice to the boxes and duffel bags Clint was carrying nor offering to help. “Let me show you to your room.”

Tony trotted inside his home with his chin held high, showing off the glory that is his tower.

“This is the living room. There are also living rooms on the 6th and 10th floors as well as lounges on every even-numbered floor. I like even numbers.”

“Stark, I’ve been here before.”

“Yes, but it’s not often that I get to open my front doors to new faces. Security and reasons and blah blah blah.” Clint looked back at Natasha and rolled his eyes, she offered a smile in return. “Your room is on the 5th floor. In fact, all of your rooms are on the 5th floor. Except for mine. Mine is on the 2nd.”

Tony stopped and turned around to face Clint directly. “The lower levels, floor 1, and floor 2 are mine. Do you understand? They are my lairs, my dojo, my yin and yang, my…whatever other metaphors you can come up with. Do not enter unless invited or unless you are in such dire need of my help that you physically cannot wait as you are a worm on the ground. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir,” Clint didn’t break eye contact which was difficult because when Tony gets serious, the last thing you want to do is be the one he’s serious towards.

“Great! Onward we go!”

The door swung open to a vastly empty and undecorated bedroom. The area of the room itself was bigger than the entire floor plan of his apartment. Clint dropped the boxes on the bed and swung the duffel bags off his shoulders.

“Well don’t get too comfy,” Tony checked his watch, “dinner is in about ten minutes.” He turned and left, offering Natasha a salute on his way out. Natasha put her box down next to the others and sat on Clint’s new bed.

“What do you think?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, he masked his emotions. Clint Barton is very trained at masking his emotions.

“It’s alright.” He looked at her and she could tell he was more thrilled than what he was presenting. They both smiled at one another and as she got up to leave, she stopped in the doorway, “I’m glad you’re here.”

When he looked back to reply, she was gone. Clint turned and walked out onto the balcony, looking down on the city below. The same smile that had appeared earlier that day found its place again.

 _Finally._ He thought. _I’m home._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bump in the night...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)

Chapter 3

 

The sweet comfort of a new mattress was almost too exciting to fall asleep in; warm covers, non-rusted springs, and a new pillow. It felt like a cloud. Just as Clint started fading in and out between sleep and reality, a twitch caused him to open his eyes.

“Huh?” He muttered, sitting up and mostly upset at having to leave his warm and welcoming pillow. Shaking it off as nothing, he proceeded to lie back down. This time, the twitch was accompanied by a shock down his back.

His legs swung around the sides of the bed and brought him to his feet, carrying him to the bathroom where he could hopefully snap out of whatever this was.

The bathroom was a few doors down the hall, to his disadvantage. There were several on the entire floor, but Clint’s room was at the end of the hall so he had to walk a few extra feet. As he extended his arm to turn the knob, he buckled down in pain. His muscles, his lungs, his everything stopped working long enough to send him crashing to the ground. With an effort to stand back up again, he tried to lift his arms but they wouldn’t respond, his legs the same.

Clint, being the person he is, isn’t one to cry out for help. Spilling over in a pool of his own blood, third-degree burn, some bullet wounds here and there….pity stuff, he thought. He could manage this.

A bump in the night is something super-humans are trained to take seriously, whether it ends up being a potential threat or a cat in the building over. Steve Rogers, comfortably sound asleep in the nearest bedroom awoke to the sound of Clint’s body collapsing in the hall.

“Barton?” Steve’s eyes were still adjusting to the darkness as he noticed a figure curled up on the floor a few feet from his door. Steve rushed over and knelt down next to him. He grabbed Clint’s shoulders and started to pull up.

“Ow!” Barton yelped. Not only were his muscles unresponsive, but also they were sent into a spasm at the touch. Steve let go and Clint thumped back to the floor.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” The panic in the Captain’s voice was unsettling. Clint had no idea what to respond with because he didn’t have any idea either.

“I don’t know,” Clint looked up at Steve, masking his fear. He was holding his arms close to his chest, like a fearful child.

Steve pondered what to do for a moment. He looked Barton up and down, not noting any wounds or misplaced bones. From where he came from, those were the only dead giveaways of an injury.

“I’m going to get Banner,” he said as he stood up and began marching down the hall. Turning back, he hesitated, not wanting to leave the archer by himself. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move.” With that he was gone.

Clint chuckled to himself at his orders. He wasn’t about to be the center of attention on his first day here. Hawkeye sunk into the background…seeing better from a distance, living better from a distance. In a second attempt to get up, he fought through the agonizing pain in his chest. Every use of a muscle felt like he was made of telephone wire, sending signals of electricity to and from its source. His bones felt like tectonic plates, slamming into one another and elbowing the others before it slid into a place it wanted to be.

This sucks, he thought. This really sucks.

His legs worked together to bring him to his knees. A small step, but progress nonetheless. Straining himself that much took a lot out of him than expected. From kneeling to sitting and leaning against the wall, Clint started realizing that even if he did manage to stand there wouldn’t be much he could do afterwards.

Dr. Banner slept heavily and soundly, like a determined grizzly. The sound of his door barging open was enough to startle even him, however.

“Huh? What? Who are you? What’s going on?” Bruce was on his feet before he started asking questions to the figure standing in his door. Steve flicked on the light, which burned Bruce’s eyes.

“I need you to come with me, something’s wrong with Barton.” Rogers started out the door as Bruce was struggling to put on pants and walk at the same time. As the two rounded a few corners, they came upon their archer, who had just slumped out of his kneeling position and into the wall next to him.

“Clint what’s wrong? Can you hear me?” Bruce kneeled down and checked Clint’s vitals. Nothing abnormal stuck out.

“It just…hurts to move,” he heaved, out of breath from exerting most of his energy.

Steve stood with his arms crossed, analyzing the situation. He was their captain, their un-elected leader, and their guardian. Eyes on what Banner was doing and Barton’s reactions, he had a thought.

“He spent all yesterday moving, he’s probably just sore.”

Bruce had a feeling it was more than just that, but in the middle of the night it was hard to diagnose someone with something without any symptoms. “Let’s help him back to bed then.”

Steve on one side, Bruce on the other, they lunged their friend to his feet and dragged him back to his bed. Clint’s eyes had been closed when they started carrying him, but he was awake enough to feel the embrace of his bed again and the safety of his pillow wrap around his head. The feeling of security helped him forget about the pain he was in long enough for him to fall back asleep.

“I don’t think that was from moving, Captain.” Bruce shivered as he walked back to his room. The nighttime chills had gotten to him.

“We’ll see how he feels in the morning. Get some sleep, doc.”

__________________________________________________________

 

            “Temperature, JARVIS.”

            “Seventy degrees, sir.”

            “Wind?”

            “Thirty-five miles per hour, blowing east, sir.”

            “Perfect! What’s say we go out and throw the old pigskin around?”

            “I don’t have arms, sir.”

            Tony poured himself a glass of orange juice and took a seat on one of the bar stools. His kitchen really was immaculate; the newest model appliances, furniture in perfect condition, and everything was always clean.

            “Don’t you ever get tired of him, JARVIS?” Natasha pranced into the room, smiling at Tony as he glared through his juice.

            “Don’t answer that, JARVIS.” He said as she poured herself a glass as well.

            “It’s always a pleasure, sir.”

            Tony gave Natasha a sarcastic smile and she rolled her eyes, a typical morning in Stark Tower.

            The elevator dinged and Banner stepped out, holding a clipboard and flipping through papers without looking where he’s walking, a true skill for someone to have.

            “Good morning, Bruce.” Natasha flipped open the newspaper and he sat next to her at the table. On cue, Rogers walked in once the newspaper was opened and took a seat at the end.

            “Have you guys seen Barton yet?” He saw everyone else had something to drink and felt obliged to as well, standing up and making some coffee.

            “No, he’s pro-…“ As Natasha was answering, she turned to the doorway to see the man himself make an entrance. The Doctor and Rogers both looked up at him. He looked a little tired, but other than that it didn’t seem like anything was wrong.

            “Morning,” he said to no one in specific as he made his way to the counter. He picked up a mug and poured a cup of coffee.

            “How do you feel?” Bruce broke the silence.

            “Fine,” Clint shrugged and took another sip. Natasha looked at Tony, feeling like she had missed out on something. Clint looked around the room and felt the unspoken pressure that was being focused on him by the others, specifically the two who came to his aid only a few hours ago. Unable to handle large amounts of pressure, he thought it best to evacuate. As he turned to go, Bruce noticed something on the back of his shirt, something that looked like blood. He got up and stopped Clint from exiting in such a hurry.

            “What are you doing?” Clint snapped.

            “There’s blood on your shirt,” Bruce spun him around and pointed to the splotch of red that had collected at the base of the back of Clint’s collar. Clint reached an arm around and felt it, seeing the red liquid on his fingers when he brought them back.

            “Clint what happened?” Natasha stood and started walking toward him. He stood there, his blood on his fingers and looked at all of the faces looking back at him.

            “I…I don’t know,” he started to back away from the crowd of people that were slowly moving toward him. He didn’t register them as allies; he saw them as the enemy. They were not his team. They were trying to kill him. Kill them, Clint.

            “What?” He turned and looked at Steve, thinking it was him who was inside his head.

            Steve gave a confused look, “How about you have a seat for a minute.”

            As Steve extended an arm to guide Barton to a chair, Clint flung his arm back and threw a punch aimed directly at Rogers’ head. Steve was stunned for a moment at the sight of his teammate attacking, but reacted quick enough to block it. Bruce ran up in efforts to restrain Clint before anyone got hurt and at the touch, Hawkeye shut down.

            The muscles that hurt so badly the night before, the bones that felt like anvils and refused to move for him, the breath that kept him alive…they all gave out.

            The room that was filled with voices and life suddenly became filled with nothing but darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debriefing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)

Chapter 4

 

_“God damn it Wesley you’re the biggest piece of shit!”_

_“Okay, he’s out. Open the case.” The man holding the case opened it and delicately pulled out a small, shiny object. The large hands holding Clint down released and the group switched from abrasive to scientific as they began their experiment._

_“Make the incision.” A small, sweaty man wearing a brightly colored flannel handed a scalpel to the one presumed to be Wesley._

_“Why me?” Wesley protested, rejecting the tool._

_“Shut up and do it or I’ll cut you open instead!”_

_Wesley took the scalpel and made a small cut at the back of Clint’s neck…_

Clint opened his eyes. He tried to bolt upright but a hand forced him back down onto the table. He was lying on his side in a bright room.

“Take it easy, Barton. We need you to hold still,” he heard. Trying to look over his shoulder, he saw Dr. Banner and Rogers behind him. At the sight and sound of his comrades, he relaxed a little.

            “What’s going on?” As he spoke, he tried lifting his arms only to find them fastened to the table. His voice was weary, not wanting to fully wake up yet.

            “Those are on because you swung at ‘ol Captain over here. I don’t think you’re out to get any of us, but standard protocol suggests we keep you under watch until a resolution is found.”

            “A resolution to what?” Clint’s eyes were heavy, and so was his head.

            “Remember the blood I saw on your back?”

            “No.”

            “Well I fou-…wait, what? You don’t remember?” Puzzled at his response, Banner scooted away from Clint and started looking over some paperwork, research that he had started over Clint.

            “I remember you telling me, and then…that’s it. I woke up here. Can I roll over, doc? I’m not one for sleeping on my side much.”

            A different voice tuned in, “Well to fill you in, you freaked and tried to punch me in the face. I blocked it, we grabbed you, and you fainted,” Captain explained.

            “Then you were brought here where we’ve found out something rather interesting about you.” Bruce rolled his chair back over to Clint and picked up the instruments he was using to poke Clint with until he woke up. “We’ve found some sort of microchip embedded into your skin.”  
            “What the HELL does that mean?” The restraints tested their strengths again as Clint pushed his body against them, wanting to be set free of whatever game he felt he was being played in.

            Steve took a few steps back and began nervously pacing. It was no surprise that Barton would be shocked at the news, but now what was he supposed to do? What does a captain do in this situation?

            “Well, we’re not exactly sure. I’m going to continue examining it, so I need you to remain as still as possible. Let me know if I’m causing any pain.” Dr. Banner, a magnifying glass in one hand and a medical instrument in the other, began poking at the small, rectangular lump on the back of Clint’s neck. “Do you know how this might have gotten here?” He asked, not looking up from his work.

            “No,” Clint cringed as he felt a poke under his skin, “Well, maybe. I mean, yeah. I was jumped by these guys on my way home and woke up in an alley. I don’t know what they did to me though.”

            “Well that sounds like a safe assumption that they are behind the thing in your neck. I ran a few x-rays while you were out. Turns out it is actually quite small, no bigger than a centimeter. However, that’s only the bulk of it. Small, and I mean very tiny, appendages are sprouting from it. The way it has formed resembles that of a seed, sprouting out its roots.”

            “So I’m turning into a tree.” Clint shivered as he felt a piece of metal glide from one point on his neck to another. He realized he was in a patient gown instead of regular clothes, providing a lot less warmth than he would have preferred.

            “Can’t you just take it out?”

            “Well, seeing as we don’t know exactly what it is and assuming it’s a threat, it’d be dangerous to swoop in and remove it without knowing what might happen.”

            Clint sighed. _Great_. More alien stuff inside him. After what happened in New York, more surprises were just what he needed.

            “However,” Banner continued, unfastening the cuffs that kept Barton in place, “since there’s nothing more we can do until the results come back, we’ll just have to keep an eye on you.”          

            Sitting up, the cold chill of the room sent a shiver down Clint’s back. He took Dr. Banner’s words as optimistic, even though nothing had been answered or fixed. He reached for his clothes and started getting dressed.

 

 

            “You can’t all go, end of discussion.” Fury whipped around and spat toward the group. A cold, oval table stood between the leader and the five Avengers swiveling in their chairs on the other side.

            “With all due respect, sir, this isn’t something we can take loosely,” Rogers maintained a steady stare with the eye he was talking to, “It would be safer and we’d have a higher chance of success if we all were involved.”

            The team waited in silence for an answer. Natasha glanced over at Clint whose feet were propped on the table as he reclined in his chair. It had been a week since his strange encounter with Steve, but everything had seemingly returned to normal.

            “If I let you all go and you all got killed, I wouldn’t have much of a team left for the next mission now would I?” Fury leaned against the table with both hands. He never sat down, which is something that people always just got used to.

            “You’re forgetting that Birdboy over here spazzed out last week.”

            Clint glared at Tony with dead eyes.

            Bruce interrupted the tension, “I’ve been running tests and he’s fine now. His vitals remain steady and we’ve kept a close eye on him since. Whatever episode happened before shouldn’t happen again.”

            Clint relaxed in his seat a little. It was nice hearing from someone else that he was going to be okay.

            “Agent Barton, do you feel you are ready to go out into the field this soon?” Fury led the rest of the eyes in the room to Barton.

            “Not much point in being an Avenger if you’re never ready, sir.”

            Fury smiled. He knew that no matter what obstacle came Barton’s way, he never slowed down. Barton was a warrior, a soldier, and he never stopped doing what needed to be done.

            “Good,” Fury stood back up and grabbed a file off of a nearby desk and slid it to the middle of the oval table where the team sat, “You all know your positions then. You leave tomorrow morning.” With that, he turned and left.

            There had been a massive chemical leak in an armed facility along the coast of South Africa. Usually, this wouldn’t catch the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D., but the chemical was rumored to contain bits of energy from the teseract, which is something to turn your head to.

            Steve took the folder and nodded at the rest of the team, “Get some rest. We’re going to need it.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a simple mission, what could go wrong? Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)

Chapter 5

 

            The steady whir of the plane’s engine filled the silence that loomed over the teams’ heads. It had been a while since the entire team went on a mission together. Iron Man was suited up, minus his faceplate, leaning back in his seat and wondering what witty joke he could tell that would lighten everybody up.

            Hawkeye and Black Widow occupied the cockpit, pushing buttons and twisting knobs, working together silently to bring the plane to its destination.

            “I still don’t know why I’m here. I’m not any help when I’m like this,” Bruce motioned to his person, “or when I’m the Other Guy.”

            “We might need a doctor. And who knows, last time the Hulk proved his worth quite nicely.” Steve shot a smile towards Bruce and he smirked in return.

            “Besides, things get interesting when people lose control.” Tony piped up from the back of the plane.

            Despite his team’s efforts to lighten his mood, Bruce didn’t feel any better. It didn’t matter what anyone else said. He was a monster.

            “ETA three minutes. We’ll be landing one mile west of the base.” Natasha spoke through the intercom, her eyes focused on the plane, her mind focused on her injured friend sitting beside her. “Everyone know what they’re doing?”

            “I bust down the doors, rough ‘em up, hack their systems, take some samples of the chemicals and we’re on our way. Cake.” Tony crossed one leg over the other, observing his handiwork of his machine as he spoke.

            “You really have this whole ‘team’ thing down, don’t you Stark?” Captain shook his head, but couldn’t hold back a slight smile. It always humored him how lightly Tony took everything. It kept things less awful.

            “I wouldn’t be the star player if I didn’t.”

            “That didn’t register as the same plan that we discussed. Stark, you’d better stick to what we agreed on.” Widow’s voice was heard both through the speakers and faintly from the cockpit. Although her head never turned to make eye contact, they could feel the sting of her eyes as she spoke, always threatening, always demanding.

            “We know what we’re doing.” Captain looked to the front of the plane and spoke, although it was to the back of two seats. “Stark disables the security on the panels on the west side of the building-“

            “Which will only be disabled for a matter of seconds, so you’ve got to get in there fast.” Tony interrupted.  
            “Yes,” Steve continued, “which is where Barton and Romanoff will enter in through the air ducts and make their ways to the security control room.”

            “And from there it’s just a matter of holding off the clowns while our two little ninjas get what we need.” Tony uncrossed his legs and reached for his faceplate.

            “And I sit here.” Bruce mumbled to the floor.

            Steve scooted over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

            “You keep an eye out for us, and if we need you you’ll be there.”

            Bruce said nothing in return. Steve could see his own reflection in the water that gathered in Bruce’s eyes, but in a blink it was gone and Bruce returned his gaze to the floor.

            “Alright everyone. It’s go time.” Romanoff took of her headset and walked to her gear in the back of the plane with the other teammates.

            “Take us down right behind those hills.” Rogers leaned over Barton’s shoulders, pointing in the distance to a couple of rocky hills.

            The plane landed smoothly, its components whirring to a stop as Clint powered down the mechanical beast. He walked to the back with everyone else, headed straight for his bow. A click of its case, a whip of his arm, and all he needed to win was firmly in his grasp.

            The back of the plane opened and the team silently set off to work, the cool desert air keeping their sweaty palms and neck in balance. All but Bruce took their positions along the side of the building.

            “Alright, Stark. Head up to those vents,” Steve loudly whispered.

            Tony nodded and soared up several stories, eyeing a metal air vent close to the roof. He worked quickly to unhinge it and let the piece of metal fall to the ground. A glowing sensor turned red and started flashing quickly.

            “Stark! Would you be quiet! You’re going to get us noticed!” Romanoff, gun in hand, harshly snapped as Iron Man joined them back on ground level.

            “We’ve only got a few seconds. Come on Feathers, you first.” Tony stepped toward Clint and wrapped his arms around him, using his rockets to carry the archer forty feet into the air and deposit him into the air duct, followed by the Black Widow.

            “Okay, now you and I wait here until we get the all-clear from them that they’ve reached the control room.” Steve’s stance against the wall was a prepared one, as the Captain was always ready for anything. Meanwhile, Tony took the opportunity to take a break and relax until his assistance was further needed.

            _Typical_ , Steve thought.

 

\---------------------

           

            “This isn’t what I thought they meant when they told me I’d find myself in tight situations,” Clint scoffed as he forced his shoulders through the tiny vents, the width of his body barely fitting.

            “It’s okay. You like small places,” Natasha was having a much easier time crawling behind Clint, her back nor shoulders touching the walls of the ducts as her figure slid through them.

            The vents were freezing and both assassins fought not letting their teeth chatter as they climbed further into the coldness. Tony had calculated that the security room would be about a twenty-five yard crawl and so far they had only managed about ten.

            “How did we get stuck with this job anyways?” Clint nudged his shoulder to wriggle it loose. It felt like the vent was getting smaller.

            “We’re good at what we do.”

            “Shit…” was all Natasha heard in response.

            “Barton?”

            “Tash I think I’m stuck.” He kicked his legs for whatever reason and tried to wiggle himself free, but it was of no use. His shoulders were jammed between the metal sides of the air ducts.

            “Wonderful,” Natasha sighed. Just what they needed.

            “Agent Romanoff, what’s your status?” The earpiece she wore buzzed a little before coming in clear and Captain America’s voice was audible.

            “Agent Barton is stuck in the vents. We’re about halfway to the security room.” She put her hands at the base of Clint’s shoes and started to push, but he didn’t budge an inch.

            “Got any butter?” Clint sighed out and rested his head in his hands for a moment, reflecting on the lamest way to mess up a mission. He never failed to screw something up, it seemed. “You know, this could-…”

            “Shh!” Natasha froze in silence and Clint did the same. “Do you hear that?”

            Low voices mumbled from beneath them. A few guards occupied the room they were above. Lucky there were no holes in the vents to allow either of the assassins to be seen. Clint’s shoe nudged out of place, causing a bump to echo throughout the metal tunnel.

            “What was that?” One of the men from below looked up where the noise originated. “Is someone there?”

            The duo remained absolutely still. The receiver in Natasha’s ear released a frequency as Steve’s voice started piping through.

            “Shit!” She ripped it out of her ear and began ramming her shoulder into the back of Clint, pushing him forward a few inches.

            “There’s someone in the ceiling!” The other guard pointed out, opening fire to the white walls and ceiling over their heads.

            Holes of light began appearing around Barton and Romanoff.

            “Clint, go!”

            “I can’t!” He flopped like a fish out of water, struggling to release the vent’s grip on him. During his attempts, the vent shifted downward an inch. The damage that the building was taking from the gunfire plus the weight of the assassins plus Clint’s movement was bringing down the ceiling.

            Natasha started backing up and pulling on Clint instead, hoping he could move backwards if not forwards. As she crawled away from him a few feet, Barton released a yelp as something pierced his side and his struggles lessened for a moment.

The metal of the vent groaned as it sank downward, giving out beneath Clint. She reached her arm out, her fingers brushing against his pant leg as he fell to the floor in front of the two guards while she stay in the remains of the vent in the ceiling.

Clint smashed to the floor, landing on the same side that had just taken damage. He jumped to his feet and his instincts took over. Disarm the closest guard, use his gun to shoot him in the chest, kick at the other’s legs, strangle him to the floor, watch as the air leaves his lungs and never returns.

Clint stood up, letting out a deep breath. He put the guard’s gun in his belt and looked up at Natasha, who was looking at him from her place in the vent.

“Nice work,” she smiled. “But you’re hurt.” She started to climb down toward him, but more shouting voices erupted in the hallway nearby.

Clint turned to face the direction of the sound, but an unrelenting shock electrocuted through his body, his eyes clenched in pain and all at once his body relaxed. He felt his knees buckle before all of him fell limply to the floor, the blood from his wound spreading onto the carpet.

Natasha froze in the vent and watched as several more men ran into the room and hoisted Clint up by his shoulders, dragging him out of her sight.

            


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet your enemy, learn how to die..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)

Chapter 6

 

“Agent Romanoff?” Steve repeated into his earpiece, growing concern for each attempt that went unanswered. He and Stark had been waiting outside for what seemed like too long. Two of the world’s best assassins shouldn’t have taken this long to get to a room.

“I don’t want to think about what they could be doing,” Stark still slumped against the building, despite how uncomfortable his suit was in that position.

“They’ve been gone for too long. We should go inside.” Rogers grabbed his shield and peered around the corner. The dark of the night shadowed mostly everything around them, the only source of light coming from a faded yellow light over one of the entrances into the building.

“And if we go and they’re not there? Then what?”

“They might be in trouble.”

“That’s right, I forgot we had a true all-American spirit on our team.”

“Stark I am about sick and tired of your cons-,” he took a breath and regained some composure. Tony was right. Steve did have some spirit. He also had the right of mind to help his teammates. He shook his head and turned away from Stark, peering around the corner again to see nothing different.

“Banner, do you have a location on Romanoff and Barton?” He spoke while keeping an eye on the door. He could have sworn the handle just moved.

In the carrier, Bruce sat in the back with several portable computers set up around him on the floor, displaying a variety of information and coordinates and statistical formulas that few people can even pronounce. A radio buzzed to life beside him with Captain America’s voice. He typed away at one of the keyboards and pulled up blueprints for the building, as well as surveillance from all cameras in the area.

“I can see inside the building, but I don’t see…wait…hold on, it looks. My God.”

“What? What do you see?” At the sound of Rogers generally worried, Stark sat up a little with some growing concern himself.

“It looks like Barton fell out of the vents after they were shot at, then they took him away.” Banner kept looping the footage from a surveillance camera in the room. He saw Clint fall from the ceiling, he saw him kill two guards, he saw him collapse to the floor, blood pooling around him. He saw him being dragged away. “Steve, get in there.”

“Copy,” he turned to Stark, “Get up. We’re going in.”

 

 

The silence that filled the room was almost as cold as the metal her body was clung to. She couldn’t believe what she had seen and at the same time was surprised she had gone unnoticed in the ceiling. The blood that her ally had lost glistened under the fluorescent bulbs. She had to move.

Configuring several options, she decided to travel via the vents. It might lead her in the complete opposite direction that Clint was taken, but she would remain unseen and could move much more easily than Barton could.

There was a good three-foot gap between where she was and the continuing vent since a big chunk of it had fallen to the floor with Barton. She reached her arms out and inched to the edge of the vent and in a few attempts finally managed to lunge herself to the other side. Giving one last look at the room, she saw her earpiece on the floor that must have fallen too after she threw it out of her ear.

“I’m coming, Clint,” she said to herself as one arm lifted over the other and she began crawling deeper into the building.

 

 

The sound of a door closing jerked him awake, eyes shooting open. Clint tried to sit up but the bed he was tied down to wouldn’t allow it.

 _Ow, fuck_. That hurt, trying to sit up again using his core muscles but having them spasm and flare up in disagreement. He exhaled and let his head rest against the hard mat, if it was even a mat at all, and tried to stop using his damaged parts.

The door that startled him into consciousness opened and a short, overweight man walked in with a taller, muscular man behind him. Typical, Clint thought. There’s always an ugly sonuvabitch shouting orders and a sidekick brute to deal with any trouble. In this case, Clint assumed he was the trouble.

“Glad to see you’re awake, friend.” The short man stepped closer. His brute pulled up a chair in the corner and took a poor-postured seat with his arms crossed.

_Pfft, tough guy._

“That’s Shuttle. He’s here to make sure you don’t do anything else you’ll regret.”

“I won’t be the one regretting anything,” Clint’s voice felt chalky, his throat lined with dried blood. After he spoke, it awoken one of his wounds and he fell into a coughing fit, turning his head and spitting out a mixture of both dry and wet blood.

“We can help you, if you cooperate. You need a doctor soon or you might not make it.” The man pulled up a tray that stood on wheels and fumbled around some medical instruments. It reminded Clint of the dentist and all of the sharp, pointy tools that always led to the scraping of bones and bloody gums and things he could achieve without wearing a paper bib in a chair. He didn’t like the dentist very much.

Clint was more alert after taking some time to wake up. If this bozo let his guard down for half a second he’d be dead.

“What exactly am I cooperating with?”

“Questions, is all. Why did two of my guards find you crawling around in my ceiling?”

“Confidential,” he said sharply, making direct eye contact. He had survived many interrogations. This one was no different. Yet.

“That’s too bad. Those were Shuttle’s boys, you know,” the man slid on a pair of black rubber gloves and picked up one of the small, sharp tools. Clint had a feeling this guy wasn’t intent on checking for gingivitis. He looked over at Shuttle, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of him.

“Have you been feeling any different lately, Mr. Barton? Notice any unusual symptoms as you carry through your pathetic, mundane life?”

Clint said nothing. He remembered what Banner said about there being something in his neck. He remembered waking up in an alley. He remembered the pain that has caused him to fall to the floor several times. The man stared at him, knowing exactly what was running through Clint’s mind.

“It was you.”

The man smiled and reached for a cabinet that Clint hadn’t noticed before. He pulled out a jar and a syringe and returned to the archer. The lid of the jar twisted off and a goopy gel strung out and jiggled as the man stirred it around with the end of the syringe.

“I can’t have you fully awake while I’m adjusting your chip, so this will slow you down a bit,” he inserted the syringe into the jar and filled it with its contents and stepped over to Clint. “Can’t have you asleep either, that’d take the fun away.”

Clint wiggled and moved around as much as he could under the tight material holding down his waist, shoulders, and hands. In doing so, he felt two giant hands grab his shoulders and hold them down full-forced. He looked up and met eyes with Shuttle, a bald and massive man whose charcoal eyes threatened Clint to be still.

As he was momentarily distracted by the monster of a man he felt a pinch in the crease of his arm and he stopped resisting. The clear, questionable liquid traveled through is veins and invaded his blood, taking away his control.

His limbs responded to him in slow motion. His breathing slowed and he moved his eyes but they lagged in response. He felt his mouth hang open like it was tired of holding itself together.

Shuttle’s giant hands lifted from Clint’s shoulders and he felt the straps loosen on top of him. His brain told his body to get the hell up and to kick these guys’ asses, but they wouldn’t listen. Instead, his head swayed and he let out a moan as he was flipped onto his injured side facing away from the man he’d been dismally talking to. He felt the bullet wound seep some more warm liquid onto the table and be absorbed by his shirt. It hurt a lot, but even clenching his teeth was too much of a hassle.

“Pay close attention, Barton.”

He heard the clanking of the instruments being fumbled on the tray and a moment’s silence before he felt a poke in the back of his neck.

“It’s very important you learn exactly how you will die.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are both coming together and unravelling all at once.

 

            Steve was right when he thought he saw the handle move. He and Tony snuck in before the occupants of the building noticed, but their stealth couldn’t mask the accidental discharge of Stark’s repulsor.

            “Again?” Steve spat, noting that this was the third time in the past two months his suit did something it wasn’t supposed to.

            Within seconds, a number of guards were firing every clip they could find at the two Avengers.

            “This is kind of pathetic,” Iron Man walked straight through the gunfire up to one of the riflemen and grabbed his weapon, bending it in half and letting it fall to the floor.  Several of the men gave up right then and there and bolted for the door before Rogers could get to them. As for the rest of them, two minutes with Iron Man and Captain America and a pathway was cleared.

            “I’ve made coffee stronger than them.”

            “Where to, Banner?” Steve voiced over the radio system, “We’re approaching a corridor that splits off.”

            “Take a left, then straight through a set of doors. It looks like there’s a shortcut through one of the labs.”

            “Great. I love labs. You two on the other hand could use some therapy with them,” Stark quickened his pace to be in front of Steve, who glared at him in response.

            Steve could sense something other than Tony’s sarcasm, like something was really wrong. They needed to find their spies, and they needed to hurry.

 

 

            “Hey. Wake up you piece of shit.”

            The excessive slapping on Clint’s face forced him to open his eyes, which was more of a hassle then it should have been. His eyelids weighed a ton, but once opened the first thing he saw was the light hanging above him, bright and blurry. In fact, everything was blurry. He looked up at the owner of the hands that woke him.

            “Can’t even handle some serum. What a joke.” Shuttle released the last restraint and, with a powerful punch it seemed, pushed Clint from his side onto his back.

            _Oomph!_ He tried to focus on a single thing, but everything looked like the same grey blur. Shuttle’s words echoed in his ears like a church bell and he could hardly make out a language.

            “’s wrong w’mf me?” He tried to bring his hand to his face and feel for any damage, but his skin felt too heavy to lift and his bones weighed twice as much.

            “Heh, heh,” Shuttle snickered out of the room, locking it behind him and turning to the smaller man who was observing through a one-way window.

            “Gave him too much, doc.”

            “No,” the man began, “it just needs to take effect. Once the serum wears off he’ll be mine.”

            “That’s what you said ‘bout the last guy.”

            “Barton is different. He is stronger.”

            “If you say so, doc.” Shuttle crossed his arms and joined his boss in peering in at Clint, who lay helpless on the medical table on the other side of the glass.

            “Soon enough, precious Agent Barton will be our gateway into the abduction of the entire Avengers alliance.”

 

 

 

            It’s been at least ten minutes since he was taken away. He could be dead by now; he could be anything in ten minutes. Natasha picked up her pace through the vents, assuming which way to go and trying to map out the grid that the vents seemed to be constructed in.

            There were slits in the walls of the vents every ten feet or so; the air-conditioning for each room. As she passed each one, she looked out and tried to identify where she was and if Clint was anywhere to be found. Some labs, a library, and a medical supply room were all she passed so far.

            Approaching the next room, she looked down and saw an empty office. Not seeing any sign of Barton, she-wait, is that the Avengers symbol?

            She looked at a stack of files on the desk, all labeled with the Avengers “A”. Natasha propped open the steel grate and slid down into the office, rummaging through as much paperwork as she could get her hands on.

 

            _“…massive chemical exposure..”_

_“The Space Avengers: improved cellular and mental reconstruction…”_

_“Cognitive individuality reduced at molecular levels…”_

            She skimmed through file after file, document after document and tried to piece together what was going on. She stopped when she saw a loose-leaf page separate from the stack.

 

            _“My Orion, The Hunter_  


_One dose of P3-90 to the archer. The rest will come. Your time has been delayed since the chip was installed. You will face consequence. Complete your mission with haste. The Avengers no longer belong to the Earth. I will be near.”_

 

            Muffled gunshots grew in volume as they approached her location. She stuffed the letter into her suit and leaned against the doorway, reaching for her pistol.

            A set of footsteps grew nearer and she swung around, pointing the gun at her target.

            “Woah!” Steve put his arms up in defense and Natasha lowered her weapon.

            “You’re taking this round of hide and seek a little too seriously,” Stark’s faceplate lifted and he looked at the slight damage his suit had undergone during some gunfire. Little dings, but nothing he couldn’t buff out.

            “Rogers, they’re planning something big. With us.” She handed him the crumpled up letter who read it and passed it to Tony.

            “What, Orion like the constellation? Who’s that? Who sent this?” Steve looked at Natasha, assuming she had some sort of answer. 

            “The chip in Barton, they must have put it there,” said Stark.

            “So what, we’re all going to get chips? Is that their plan?” Natasha asked. More guards were surely on their way. They always come in waves that get stronger each time.

            “I don’t know. We’ve got to find Clint.” Steve tucked the letter away in his pocket and turned to Stark. “If there’s a leader, there’s a control room. You need to find it.”

            “I do have a knack where others lack.”

            “Don’t. Stop rhyming.” Natasha said with a straight face.

            “Banner, guide Stark to the control hub; a main lab or tech room or something. And stay on call, if they’re probing Barton we’ll need you to come in.”

            “Roger, Rogers.”

            “Oh, he can just repeat words but I can’t rhyme?” Stark slid back on his faceplate and used his repulsors to propel him in the opposite direction.

            “Let’s find Barton.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself). I also have a blog and Twitter, just ask! Reviews/comments greatly appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attention.

            Fifty…fifty one…fifty two…fif…nope.

            He spun his neck to the side and threw up again, although there wasn’t much left to throw up. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything. Fifty-two and a half was a new record of how long he could go without viciously dry heaving, and he had little hope of surpassing that high score.

            Clint didn’t know what to do, which is a rare occurrence.  His vision was coming back slowly, but at least he could make out the shapes of things. To the right of him were the cabinets and dreaded instruments on a tray, and to the left was, well, nothing. These guys obviously aren’t Hollywood interior designers.

            “Have a nice nap?” The sound of the door clicking open signaled yet another visit from Barton’s mysterious captor.

            “Let me go,” Clint avoided eye contact. Instead, he looked straight up at the ceiling when he spoke.

            “I’m afraid that won’t be happening. Why don’t you reach back and feel your neck for me, Mr. Barton?”

  
            Clint didn’t like being told what to do, that was a fact, but he supposed he had no choice but to play along. Pushing his dignity to the side a little, he reached up and felt where the chip was in his neck.

            His fingers grazed over a cold metal plate with etchings, or scratches maybe, and it wasn’t just a small chip anymore. He outlined it with his index finger, feeling it extend from the base of his neck to nearly between his shoulder blades.

            “Are you aware of the gravity of your condition? Of what we’ve done to you?” The man took a seat and smiled where Clint lacked expression. He returned his hand to his side, pretending he didn’t just feel a goddamn piece of metal at the back of his head. Clint glared at the man before composing enough anger and use of the English language to form a sentence.

            “You won’t get whatever it is you’re working for.”

            “Oh, you poor thing,” the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet device. He pushed an array of buttons and as Clint watched, he felt something strange within him.

            A bolt of electricity sprang through his neck, jolting his muscles and preventing him from having any control over them. The pain was extraordinary, all he could do was grit his teeth and try to resist. The man started laughing hysterically, twirling the remote in his hand as Clint’s spasms started slowing to a stop.

            “We already have it.”

 

\---------

 

            “We’ve already been down this way.”

            “Banner, you’re leading us in cir-,” Steve began in his earpiece when a glow from a room down the hall stopped him.

            “Do you think that’s it?” Natasha whispered, pressing herself up against the wall and drawing her weapon. Clint has to be in there.

            Steve nodded for her to move ahead in front of him while he took the back. The glow of the room was white, not your usual yellow tungsten lighting. It bled into the hallway and soon onto Natasha’s face as she peered around the corner. She saw nothing but a big glass panel and some-wait.

            “Steve!” She rushed inside and pressed her hands against the glass, peering at Barton on the other side.

            “Barton? Barton wake up!” She pounded on the glass, but he didn’t move. She took her gun out of its holster and began shooting at the glass, but it didn’t do anything more than crack a little.

            “Hey, easy,” Steve started, but she was too busy pounding to listen before he yelled, “Natasha!” She stopped.

            “Take it easy. There’s another way inside.” His hand was on her shoulder and he felt the worry in her eyes. Why wasn’t Clint waking up? He wanted their teammate back just the same, but they needed to keep their heads for just a while longer.

            They left the room but not without Natasha sneaking another look at him as they turned the corner. He was so lifeless there. He couldn’t be dead though, he couldn’t be. Then again, her encouraging thoughts could only go so far.

           

\---------

 

            He opened his eyes to another blurry, bright light shining in his face. Every time he tried to open his eyelids a little wider the bright light would only burn more.

            _Mmph._ Clint moaned, reaching his arm up to shield the light from his face. Wait, he lifted his arm up. He bolted upright from the bed and saw that there were no more straps holding him down.

            _Ha!_ He thought. _Fuckin’ idiots._

            Overwhelmed with adrenaline, he hopped down from the bed and took a step toward the door. Well, he tried to take a step. Once the first foot left the ground he swayed backwards and leaned back up against the bed, conveniently on wheels and not able to support any weight given from the sides. He crashed to the floor with the loud metal bangs that the table produced when it fell with him.

            _So much for a quiet getaway._

His weak muscles tried pulling himself off the floor, the change in gravity not quite sitting well with him. God only knows how long he’d been lying on that table. In his condition, standing, let along making a getaway, would be a struggle.

            He got to a semi-stable standing position and felt another wave of nausea wash over him. His body turned, faced the wall, and dry heaved some more of his energy away. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he staggered to the door that the man and Shuttle had entered so many times. But wait, that’d be too obvious. Surely there’d be guards or even Shuttle standing watch and he wasn’t sure how much of a fight he could put up in this condition.

            Looking around the room, there were a few small air vents that maybe a guinea pig could fit through and-ha! A window!

Using the wall for support Clint eventually made his way to the small half-window. It was about two feet higher than he was, which raised the difficulty a little. Climbing on a nearby table, he put his foot on one of the shelves and hoisted up to the window. It didn’t lead to the outside, which was discouraging, but at least it leads somewhere.

            He lifted up the hatch and slid through the rectangular window on his stomach, which brought on more pain than he’d planned.

            _Oomph!_ With nothing to support him on the other side, Clint fell and landed on another lab table cluttered with glass beakers. Their shards dug into his back, but he had to keep moving. It took him a moment to sit up straight from exerting such energy. Dragging his hand to his shoulders, he felt some blood start to seep through his shirt.

            _Wait, what about…_

He lifted his shirt and examined the bullet wound on his side that emptied out so much of his blood earlier. It had been taped up semi-professionally, probably when he was unconscious. How thoughtful of them, he figured. It still stung like a bitch, but he couldn’t let it slow him down. At least that part of him wasn’t bleeding anymore.

            Clint looked around the new room he was in, which was identical to the one he had just come from minus the big one-way window. Instead, it had a bunch of shelving and liquids. Must be some sort of storage room for all of their “experiments”, he thought.

            Picking a jagged shard of glass out of his back, he stood up and felt the wooziness reclaim him, forcing him to lean back against the table full of broken beakers. Any power his body had left had disappeared after such a strenuous effort to escape. The dizziness, the nausea, and the pain all collided at him once again.

            “Barton? Clint?” He thought he heard someone shout. It can’t be, no one’s here to help him. Fucking baldy and his god damned brute, Clint kept swearing inside his head with the last of his energy.

            “They must have moved him somewhere else.” He heard from the room he had come from through the open window. The deep voice sounded just like Steve, it had to be him.

            “Cap?” Clint’s voice was dreary. He thought he shouted but he wasn’t sure if he even made a noise. No, no don’t let him leave. He’s so close to being found and getting the Hell out of here. “Cap ‘m in here!” His eyes closed shut but he wanted to keep talking, he wanted Rogers to find him alive.

             Nearly falling off of the glassy table, he let out a final attempt at getting Steve’s attention, “But you sh’d f’nd a differ’nt way in th’n I did Rogers…” before sweet sleep took over everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know, talk to me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get him and go.

Chapter 9

 

_To Recap: Rogers and Romanoff are hunting around a nuclear waste facility for Barton, who is unconscious in a supply closet. Meanwhile, Stark is headed for the control room and Banner is back at the jet, monitoring security cams. So now, we’re here._

 

“Next left. Not that left. Stark, you’re a scientist. Come on. Know your rights from—“

“I got it! Sheesh! Know your…science. Or something.” Stark spoke back into the radio at Banner. A better comeback would have been in store but a bothersome guard kept badgering at his armor with bullets. “Okay, enough talk from you.” He activated a small heat-seeking missile and in a matter of seconds his target stopped firing. “Good. Now, to the left you said?”

Stark kicked open a door to his left and low and behold, a mighty control room awaited. A row of screens displayed security surveillance all over the building. Meanwhile, a board of switches and buttons stretched across the majority of the room.

“Alright, storage…storage…” he muttered to himself as he looked over a grid of the building. “Okay it looks like they’re keeping the nuclear weapons in, what I’m guessing to be, the most protected storage room.”

Pressing a button on his suit, a beam appeared and stuck into the air. After a moment of searching, it retracted back into Tony’s suit.

“I’m getting a trace of Tesseract energy from that direction as well. Looks like that’s where I’m headed,” he said, leaving the room and stepping over the guard lying on the ground.

 

\-------

 

            “Shhh!” Steve put a finger to his mouth, telling Natasha to be quiet for a second. “What was that? Someone said my name, I—“

            “It must’ve been Barton! He’s somewhere nearby,” she started looking around her. A door up ahead seemed promising but after wiggling the handle a bit, it was locked from the other side.

            Natasha took a few steps back and prepared a powerful stance. In a swift, strong motion her foot collided with the material of the door just next to the handle. Although made of metal, the lock gave way and it swung open clumsily on its hinges.

            Steve made an impressed expression with his mouth and followed her inside. If it really was Barton whom he heard, why wasn’t he hearing him anymore?

            As excited as Romanoff was to find her partner, she wasn’t excited to see him in any sort of harmed state. Seeing him shot and fall to the floor back in the vents was hard enough. That image of the red smeared across the carpet would haunt her for a while. Those kinds of things always did.

            The room wasn’t big at all and within seconds after kicking the door open, it swung open to reveal a fallen Clint Barton on the floor.

            Natasha said nothing as she rushed over to him. Her stern expression transmitted to Steve who took liberty in reporting to the rest of the team. She had thrown her earpiece off in the vent after it malfunctioned.

            “We found Barton. Send a medical team, stat. Do you hear me Banner?” He spoke through his earpiece. 

            “I’m the only one here. It’ll take at least an hour before a response team can make it this far to us.” Back in the aircraft, Banner stood up and opened a small medical kit. His hands rummaged through the cabinets and shelves, throwing bandages and materials into the bag. “I’m coming.”

            Steve would have disagreed leaving the jet unattended, but this was an exception. He knelt down to Clint but left some distance.

            Romanoff knelt beside him and hurriedly scanned his body over and over, trying to find the source of his pain.

            “Barton. Clint. Wake up. We need you to wake up.” Her hands felt over his forehead and cheeks, discovering a cold temperature emitting from him. His face had gone ungodly pale and the blood from both the bullet wound and the broken glass he’d landed on was a mixture of gooey, dry mess.

            “Looks like he dropped in from that window,” Steve observed. The broken supplies everywhere were a dead giveaway. With a gentle hand, he lifted Clint’s shoulder in attempt at getting a look at his back. There were scratches in the fabric of his shirt and a larger gape that looked like a big shard of glass had caused.

            “Come on, Barton.” She leaned across him to get a better look at his back as well and caught a glimpse of the irritated skin at the back of his neck. The newer, more advanced chip had been in place for a small amount of time and his skin was trying to heal around it. “Эти идиоты! I can’t wait until I’m in a room alone with them. Goddamned idiots.”

            Another tear crumpled at the side of Clint’s shirt where the bullet had entered. It moved ever so slightly up and down as he took in slow, unconscious breaths. If it weren’t for that, the paleness in his face and coldness of skin would signal a much more devastating discovery.

            “Where’s Banner? We need to get him to a hospital.” Natasha scooped her hand under his neck and rolled his head so that it was facing the ceiling. The rushed tone in her voice was enough for Steve to know that they needed medics, and they needed them now.

            “Agent Barton is unconscious and needs immediate care. Banner, where—“

            An out of breath Bruce burst into the room, nearly slamming into the doorframe. Now with four bodies in a supply closet, things were very cramped.

            “I’m here, I’m here. Move,” Banner stepped over Barton’s legs and took Steve’s place, who decided to leave the room to provide some more space.

            “He’s breathing but he won’t wake up,” Natasha spoke without taking her eyes off of Clint.

            “Right,” Banner reached up and checked Barton’s pulse. It was a little slow. “Is that a bullet wound? Sheesh. It looks like he’s lost a lot of blood. Plus there’s a puddle that he’s laying in. I’m assuming from all this broken glass everywhere?” He reached into his kit and pulled out a roll of wrap, beginning to wrap it around Clint’s torso and cover the bleeding scrape in his back. It was a process considering Clint was unconscious and lying down, but after a few minutes he was bandaged up.

            “That will have to do until we can get him to a hospital,” Bruce set Clint into a more upright position. “Okay buddy. Come on. Barton, hey. Wake up. Can you hear me?” He tapped his cheeks a little. No response.

            Natasha sighed and looked over at Bruce. For the first time since finding Barton, she took her eyes off of him.

            “They put a different goddamn chip in his neck. I saw it shock him when I was in the vents, just before they took him away. Whatever it is we need to get it out of him,” she said.

            “Correct, but first he needs to wake up and get some color back to him. Nobody can surgically remove it until we know he’s stable. At least we’ve managed to stop the bleeding,” Bruce looked over to Steve who had been observing from the hallway. “We need to leave now. Tell Stark to take whatever he’s got and go.”

            “You mean this?” Iron Man shouted from down the hallway. He had a dolly with several crates stacked on top of it, all filled with the supposed tesseract energy. “You all were taking too long. I’ll go put these in the jet.”

            “We’re coming too,” Steve stepped into the supply closet and bent over, placing his arms underneath Barton. In an easy heave, he lifted him with ease and carried him back into the jet. Natasha walked behind, watching just in case her partner stirred to life.

            For just a moment, Clint could hear the whirring of the jets come to life. He could see faces above him through the cracks in his eyelids. He could feel himself being placed on another surface and the plane took off. He felt himself leave the ground. Or maybe it was just the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a big delay! (psst, it doesn't end here. Don't worry.)
> 
> You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know! Have a wonderful day! (or night, if you're a sleep-deprived Bartonesque like myself)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's coming together.

_To recap: Clint was rescued from the facility that was rumored to contain nuclear waste and weapons with tesseract energy. He barely made it out alive but luckily did, with the help of his team. In the midst of the chaos, Natasha stumbled onto some clues as to who is behind Barton's weird electro-shocking-chip, Tony found the weapons, and Bruce is struggling to overcome some serious self-worth issues._

 

Chapter 10

 

_“You won’t get whatever it is you’re working for.”_

_“We already have it…we already have it…we already have it, Agent Barton…we already have it…”_

Clint opened his eyes. Bright white light. Not too bright, but just bright enough to hurt. He closed them and tried again. He looked to the side. An IV bag hung above his head and he traced the tube down into the crease of his arm. He was numb, although didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he didn’t know why, and that unsettled him.

 

He lifted his shoulders a little from his reclined position in the hospital bed. This was a hospital room he hadn’t seen before, which was surprising since he’s seen quite a few. The blinds were pulled down and the only light not coming from the ceiling or the monitors came from the sliver of white beneath the door. It was very quiet.

 

“Hello?” he said quietly but sternly. His head snapped to look the other way and recoiled in pain. He tried bringing up a hand to ease the soreness of his neck but was interrupted by the IV tube getting caught on the side of the bed. It was a very simple disturbance, but enough to frustrate him. Clint didn’t like hospitals. He didn’t like getting injured and he didn’t like being babied. Although, much to his surprise, there didn’t seem to be anyone around to baby him.

 

“Glad you’ve finally joined us.”

 

Clint looked over at the door to see Bruce walk in holding a filled paper bag and a bottle of water. He walked over to Barton’s monitors and Clint watched as the man checked his vitals. Bruce looked at the IV, which was almost empty. It wasn’t something he liked doing, all of this medical stuff when he could be working on his science and research. However, when a teammate needed help, he was there. He looked down at the tubing connected to Clint’s arm and then at a different bag of painkillers, also almost empty. This was the third bag of each that he had refilled for Barton since he’d been brought back to the Tower.

 

“I feel like I was run over by a tank.” Clint’s voice was soft. He watched Banner pull up a chair and take a seat beside the bed. The plastic bag in his hand smelled weird and it made Clint nauseous. “What’s that?”

 

“I brought you lunch. You haven’t eaten anything in three days,” he said with a slight smile. Clint didn’t react and Bruce set the bag and water beside Clint’s knees. “Whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

 

Barton sighed. His head lay back against the pillow and he tried to think, tried to remember the things that brought him here.

 

“We were worried about you. Whatever they did to you is hard to reverse.” Banner’s voice almost startled him a little. He looked over at him.

 

“What do you mean ‘is’? I’m not cured of whatever they did?” He waved his hand in the air slightly to exaggerate the ‘whatever’ part.

 

“The drugs they injected you with are out of your system. The chip is gone, but we’ve been monitoring your brain wave activity and it’s not the same as the records we have on file existing before the incident, before the chip was installed.” Banner leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He didn’t know what to do with his hands when they weren’t holding a clipboard, typing, or green, so he crossed them in his lap.

 

“And the electrocution? I’d appreciate it if that was something you could take away.”

 

“Since you’ve been here, you’ve…” Banner sighed. “They’ve been small spasms, only occurring about once or twice a day. We’re still trying to—“

 

“To figure out what’s wrong,” Clint interrupted. He looked long and hard at the light above him that had so recently been difficult to look at.

 

“Right.” They sat in silence for a minute before Banner uncrossed his legs and stood up. “I’m going to go tell the others you’re awake. Once you’re through with that dose of medication you should be able to move into your room.”

 

Clint remained staring at the ceiling. He felt bad for feeling so bad, but it’s all he really felt. Banner twisted the knob and let in light from the hallway.

 

“That’s good,” Clint said, just before Banner’s figure disappeared. Bruce stopped and turned his head to listen. “Stark’s infirmary could use some serious redecorating.”

 

Bruce turned around fully to look at him and smile. He left and the door shut behind him, a small sliver of light remaining underneath it, a glowing reminder that there were people who cared about Clint.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Easy, easy. We don’t need to see any more of your blood on the floor,” Steve said gently. Barton’s arm was draped over his shoulders and he had a firm hand on the side of Clint that wasn’t recently penetrated by a bullet. Natasha walked alongside them, on Clint’s more injured side. She opened doors and pressed elevator buttons until they had reached the unmade mess that was Clint’s bed.

 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow…” Clint pushed away from Steve and hobbled the few extra feet to his bed. Slowly he began to sit down, but then collapsed onto the sheets. It brought little pain to him as the painkillers were still pumping through his system. Bruce had told him that they’d be working for a few hours. Clint gleefully sighed at the pillow that cushioned his head

 

“Comfortable?” Natasha pulled out the sheet he was laying on and draped it over him.

 

“I don’t want that,” Clint replied with his eyes closed. His mouth was open, still enjoying the comfort of laying down flat on his back on something other than a medical table for the first time in days. He pushed the blanket back off and Natasha rolled her eyes.

 

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Steve walked over to the windows and lowered the shades down halfway, figuring it was the best way to balance out the lighting in the room so it wasn’t too bright or too dark.

 

Clint shook his head. The drugs had him in a daze. Everything from his neck to his hips felt numb and like jelly that was stiff due to the bandaging. The back of his head stung a little from the removal of the chip. He could feel the gauze pressing into his neck as it was pinned against the fabric of the pillowcase. All he wanted was some sleep, but his body needed some nourishment before it did that.

 

“You have to eat something, or drink some water at least. IV’s keep you hydrated, they don’t feed you.” Natasha picked up an empty food container from his nightstand and tossed it into the trash, which was almost overflowing.

 

“’m not hungry.” With a grunt, Clint tried to roll onto his side. It didn’t work the way he wanted to and he flopped back onto his back. Natasha looked over at Steve and he could tell what she was thinking; Barton was going to be okay because he was being his same stubborn self. His stomach let out a low growl and she glared down at his closed eyes.

 

“Clearly you’re not hungry,” she said, walking towards the door. “I’m bring you food and you’re eating it.”

 

Steve gave a last look out the window and followed her. He had a meeting with Fury every day since the team had returned and Tony was busy examining the weapons and waste recovered from the facility. With Clint on top of all of that, everyone was a little busy. Barton waved Natasha off with his hand a little late, the meds to blame for his lag. The hand fell sloppily to his abdomen and it sent a spasm from the wound. Alone in his room, he flinched a little and then started giggling. It was slow and with hazy effort, but he regained composure in a few minutes. His body needed a lot of things: food, bandages, water, and a shower. More importantly, it needed sleep.

 

Natasha returned to the room with a plate of pizza and an apple. She saw Clint conked out and set the food down on his nightstand. The blanket she tried to put on him earlier was in a heap beside him. Silently, she pulled it up and over him. Her hand went to his forehead. He felt cold and his color hadn’t fully returned. She made the mental note to wake him up and force him to eat something in a few hours, no exceptions.

 

She stood there for a while, watching the slow movements of his chest move up and down. Even while unconscious, his body knew that part of it was healing and didn’t use the lower left part of his rib cage as much as it wanted to. She reached out a hand towards the bullet site and it hovered just inches above him. Her mind wanted to see the damage because doing that always made her that much more invested in getting revenge, especially when it came to those who worked alongside her.

 

Natasha shook her head. Her hand retracted and she walked towards the garbage can in the corner of his room. She lifted the bag up and tied it on the top, carrying it out and into the bigger garbage bins.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            “It’s exactly what we didn’t want to find out.” Tony scratched at his temple with the end of his pen. The desk he sat at was cluttered with paperwork and three-dimensional models of various chemical compositions. “If there’s as much tesseract energy in this waste as my research has found, which is accurate because I’m never wrong, then we’re looking at enough galactic power to turn planet Earth into a handful of sand.”

 

            Fury’s arms remained crossed and his eye focused on Stark. Steve stood closer to Tony, leaning slightly on the corner of his desk. He eyed at the paperwork and all of the scientific jargon went right over his head, so he looked back at Fury.

 

            “How do we get rid of it?” Fury asked.

 

            “We send it back where it came from.” Tony reclined in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. They kicked into a stack of papers and sent it sliding over, but he made no effort to recollect them. He pointed a finger upwards and raised an eyebrow. “Big bad outer space.”

 

            “So if your research is correct—“

 

            “It is,” Stark interrupted. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a red apple, biting into it with force.

 

            “Right,” Fury continued. “In that case, how do you propose we transport a thousand pounds of lethal foreign waste into outer space?”

 

            Tony examined his apple and took another bite. Steve’s glance shifted from his boss over to the mechanic. It made him kind of hungry for an apple himself, but he knew Stark wouldn’t just give away an apple to anyone.

 

            “A spaceship would do it. Those exist, you know. People go into space all the time. We just have to be especially careful and precise and armed because whoever is missing this stuff is bound to come looking for it with some toys packing the same amount of power.”

 

            Fury and Steve took in all of this information. It was discouraging, but Tony was sure of the facts. Fury opened his mouth to say something but it closed again. He glanced over at Steve and finally got some words out.

 

            “We need to do something about this now. Get your team ready. I’m—“

 

            “His team?” Tony asked. He swiveled in his chair to face Steve. “Your team?”

 

            Steve raised his hands defensively and looked at Fury for some back up.

           

            “Yes, his team. His name is Captain America, if you recall, emphasis on the ‘Captain’.” Fury rolled his eye and continued. “I’m sending you into space to deal with this. Get it out and far away from planet Earth. If anybody comes looking for it, I assume you all know what to do.”

 

            “Let me guess. Deal with it?” Tony asked.

 

            Fury didn’t respond. Instead he looked over at Steve who offered a head nod in understanding. Their stern boss in a trench coat turned and left without saying anything more. Steve could tell that Fury didn’t like this mission. He didn’t like a lot, or most, of the things they had to do, but this one specifically was giving everybody a chill they didn’t like.

 

            “Get ready,” Steve ordered. He pushed himself off of Tony’s desk and headed for the door.

 

            “’Get ready’, ‘get ready’,” Tony mocked, taking another satisfying crunch out of his apple.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

            “This changes everything, Nat.”

 

            “I know. I wanted to tell you first. I figured you could help me understand it more before we brought it to the others.”

 

            “Orion? Who’s that? P3-90 must be what they call the chip. ‘The Space Avengers’?” Banner’s eyebrows furrowed at the pieces of paper in his hands. He wanted more out of them. He wanted them to make sense and give more answers. Natasha sat across from him with a posture as serious as her expression.

 

            “They’re going to come after all of us and do exactly what they did to Barton,” she said.

 

            “It’s a game of mind control. Some big guy is hiring little guys, like the ones at the facility, to do their dirty work. They want us working for whoever sent these letters to this ‘Orion’ person.” Bruce remained focused on the papers, reading them and rereading them. Natasha only managed to grab the few that she had seen with relative information on it, which wasn’t a lot. Bruce sighed.

 

“The recordings of Clint’s brain wave patterns suggest that he may still be under whatever control those men had on him before. We don’t know how to reverse it, not yet. We need to run some tests.”

 

“I don’t think we have time for tests,” Natasha said. Her eyes looked past Bruce for a moment, as she got lost in her own thoughts about Barton, about the team being controlled mindlessly by whoever this person is. She thought about losing control. She didn’t like it.

 

“We’ll have to make time,” Bruce said. He collected the paperwork into a pile and folded it over in his hand. Through his glasses he could see a very clear Natasha Romanoff. Through his mind he could see a very angry Natasha Romanoff.

 

Nat looked down at the papers and back up at him, meeting his gaze. She saw herself faintly in the reflection of his glasses. Looking past that, she saw a very angry Bruce Banner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Pssst! Don't fret, it ain't over yet!)   
> Thank you all so much! You can also find me on fanfiction.net under the same name (UumRonin). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. If you have any comments, suggestions, prompts, anything--let me know, talk to me!


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